“What about during the school year? Surely a tenured professor of behavioral psychology isn’t making food for the entire campus.”
“Of course not.” Dorian laughed.
“So the regular kitchen staff, would it be possible to get a list of their names?”
He shook his head. “No. I’m not at liberty to share their contact information. It would be a breach of privacy.”
“I’m sorry,” said Lexi, her tone thick with sarcasm, “but you’re writing an article about Hildegard? How can that possibly intersect with your current research?”
“I’m a historian,” I said stiffly. “I’m interested in the history of the college. For instance, Finn tells me you all grew up here, but I’m having trouble understanding this. You all grew up here, went to school here, and then what, started teaching here? This is beginning to sound a little culty.”
“No,” said Dorian. “We went away for our undergraduate and graduate degrees, but this is our home, and we return to care for it.”
That seemed like an odd turn of phrase. “You realize this is strange, though, right? That’s not how academia works. You don’t grow up together at a college and then all get jobs at that same college. What about the postdocs, the visiting jobs, the hellish adjunct positions? You have to admit this isn’t normal.”
The others were growing increasingly agitated as I spoke, but Aspen seemed calmly interested, like she wanted to see where I was going with my line of inquiry.
“What about Isabelle? Did she grow up here as well?”
“No, she came to us much later,” said Aspen. “Recruited because of her exceptional talent.”
“But what did she do exactly?”
“That’s not something we can disclose,” she said. “She worked with very sensitive material. It came with her position.”
“I see. And what sensitive material would that be?”
Dorian held up a chiding finger and laughed. “That is exactly the kind of information we can’t disclose.”
My thoughts drifted to the night I was awakened by the siren, back to the idea of animal testing. “Did it have anything to do with the dogs?”
He looked confused. “Dogs? No.”
“I was just thinking about that night, about the siren. It seemed like something of an oversize reaction for a dog getting out. It got me wondering exactly how dangerous these dogs of yours are.”
He looked at me straight on, unblinking. “They are for security. They are only dangerous when they are supposed to be.”
“That’s the weird thing, though. If they’re for security, why do I never see them? What exactly are they guarding?”
In response, though, he just gave me a broad smile, and then turned his attention to his meal. Lunch wrapped up quickly after that, the others scattering like I was Typhoid Mary. Clearly I was hitting some nerves.
A storm rolled in that afternoon. It came down hard and fast beginning around four. I holed up in the scriptorium during the worst of it, but even though I was belowground, I could hear how loud it was—terrible, lashing rain and ominous thunder. I worked until well past what sounded like another raucous dinner and on into that time of night when the house was beginning to shut down for the evening. Finn and Aspen separately came in to say good night, and I assured them that I would turn off any lights and lock up before I left.
The storm was still raging when I did finally give up for the night, and as I hurried from the library and out into the night, I had a feeling once again that I was being watched. The storm had brought with it frigid temperatures, the likes of which I’d yet to feel at Hildegard, and by the time I made it into the cabana, I was soaked and shivering. After changing into dry clothes, I made myself some tea and then double-checked that all the doors were locked before sitting at my desk. Rain lashed against the windows, and thunder echoed through the mountains. When lightning lit up the sky a few seconds later, I thought I caught movement in the garden just out of the corner of my eye.
Quickly I turned off the lights and stared out at the patio. But there was nothing there. Just torrents of rain splashing against the flagstones. Sinking onto the couch, I cradled my tea, and despite the warmth, I shivered. I felt like a fawn isolated from the herd as a pack of wolves slowly surrounded it, closing in, preparing for the sacrificial feast.
IIITHE UNQUIET EARTH
3.1SKY GODS AND EARTH MAIDENS
Astronomy compels the soul to look upwards and leads us from this world to another.
—PLATO
The next morning, I awoke to a crisp blue sky and the heavenly freshness of recently fallen rain. I had a new plan and was ready to implement it. When I’d mentioned writing an article, that had clearly flustered all of them, so I decided I would keep on plying them with invasive questions until one of them cracked. I took a hot shower, had a light breakfast of toast with butter and honey, and then filled a to-go mug I found in the cabinet, setting out to find Aspen. After a short and pleasant search through the rain-kissed grounds, I found her working in one of the greenhouses, her gloved hands deep in the soil.
“Hey,” she said. “Sorry, I’m kind of busy right now.”
